


Do-It-Yourself Medicine in Faerie

by GammaSpectrum



Series: Bolide Impact [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Aftermath of a Lindorm Attack, DIY Medicine, Feverish delirium, Hurt/Comfort, Injured Gabriel (Supernatural), M/M, Serious Injuries, Sharing a Room, Stitches, Timestamp, field medicine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-15
Updated: 2019-10-15
Packaged: 2020-12-16 15:50:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21038759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GammaSpectrum/pseuds/GammaSpectrum
Summary: The Trickster has been injured by a lindorm while aiding Sam in his quest to find Dean and Castiel, who have been lost in Faerie. Unfortunately, he isn't healing like he probably should and Sam doesn't trust the residents of Faerie with his only ally.A timestamp set between chapters 13 and 14 of "A Star Fell From Heaven", but may be possible to read as a standalone.





	Do-It-Yourself Medicine in Faerie

**Author's Note:**

> I am not 100% sure if this will make a great deal of sense without having read "A Star Fell From Heaven", which is a crossover with Stardust. However, aside from this being set in Faerie, this story itself can be easily understood - I believe - in the context of Supernatural alone, as there are few - if any - recognizable aspects of Stardust present here. 
> 
> However, I believe this can be enjoyed with only the following pieces of information: Sam has reached a truce with the Trickster and have agreed to work with him to find Dean and Castiel, who have become separated from Sam while they were all travelling together through Faerie, and the Trickster - when pressed for a name - suggested that Sam can call him "Gabe". While searching for Dean and Castiel, Sam and Gabe attempt to take a shortcut across a swamp and encounter a lindorm and during the lindorm's attack and subsequent slaying of the lindorm by Sam, Gabe is impaled on the broken remains of a tree.

Gabe wasn’t lucid when Sam managed to get him up the stairs and into the room at the inn. He’d been awake enough that Sam hadn’t needed to carry him, but he hadn’t been steady enough to walk unaided. Which had been the case for the last third of the ascent up Mount Drummond at the very least.

Sam sat him on one of the beds. Gabe collapsed onto it with a groan and was immediately unconscious. That was a worrisome sign, but Sam didn’t have the means at the moment to do much more than take Gabe’s boots off and get him properly onto the bed, rather than allowing his legs to dangle off the side.

Unsure of what else to do, Sam quietly muttered to his unconscious companion: “I’m gonna go see if I can find something to stitch you up, all right? I’ll be back soon.”

Gabe didn’t wake to reply, and Sam felt another quick bolt of fear. Nothing about this was right at all. Gabe should have been nearly impervious to injury, and what injuries he did sustain ought to heal rapidly. Yet there was plenty of blood soaking through the makeshift bandage Sam had placed on him back in the swamp.

* * *

Sam returned with medical supplies that were passable replacements for the medical kit he’d lost with his duffel bag.

He rummaged through all he’d bought to find the proper bandages and the needle and thread for stitching up the wound. He’d also boiled some water and clothes in order to clean the injury as best he could, along with the highest proof alcohol he could find to disinfect it. Sam hoped that the people of Faerie didn’t often water down their whiskey. It certainly wouldn’t do Gabe any good to add a bacterial infection to the mix, if the alcohol was contaminated and not strong enough to kill of any bugs.

“Gabe?” Sam questioned, hoping that maybe Gabe had begun to recover on his own while he was away. Gabe did not respond, although his chest rose and fell in regular intervals.

Sam sat down on the bed next to Gabe, trying not to jostle him too much, although he knew that he would need to remove Gabe’s shirt and the bandage in order to clean the wound. That would hurt.

Sam looked down at him. Gabe looked so small right now. And that was wrong too. Gabe had such a huge personality that Sam frequently forgot how much shorter he was compared to himself.

“I need to clean that wound,” Sam told him, even though he was quite certain that Gabe couldn’t hear him. “I’m gonna have to take your shirt off.”

Sam found himself blushing the moment he said that. He knew it to be necessary, but somehow it felt different from all the times he’d done this with his brother.

It was probable this was because Gabe would have made some lewd quip if he’d been awake, and Sam’s mind unhelpfully suggested several such quips in Gabe’s voice.

He shook off the worst of the awkwardness. The wound needed to be cleaned and stitched and bandaged, and Gabe’s shirt was in the way of that. Sam had done this for Dean many times. This was no different.

Gabe made the most piteous sound as Sam worked his bad arm out of his shirt and jacket.

“Sorry, sorry,” Sam apologized, even though Gabe didn’t seem to be able to hear him.

Sam gently pulled off the makeshift bandage he’d wrapped around Gabe’s wound in the swamp. It was soaked through with Gabe’s blood, and it stuck unpleasantly to the skin around the wound and Sam winced as he found that he had very little choice but to pull it free, despite the groan of pain that Gabe made when he did. The wound had to be cleaned, given the circumstances in which Gabe had gotten it. Sam already worried that he’d delayed this longer than he should have, but it wasn’t as if he’d had the supplies or anything approaching a clean environment while they’d been in the swamp.

With the makeshift bandage pulled away, Sam could finally see the full extent of the wound. It was deep, clean through the muscle and tissue and bone. Sam couldn’t help but flinch at the sight of it. If Gabe had been human, Sam didn’t doubt that he would have already died.

The surrounding skin was also crusted with dirt and mud. Sam turned to the bowl of water he’d set aside and considered how best to go about cleaning the Gabe’s skin around the wound. Ideally, in the usual world, Sam would have tried to shove him into the nearest shower and get the worst of the muck off of him. (This was not an entirely unusual occurrence when Sam or Dean were injured, for the less hurt one of them to wash the injury out like that.)

As Faerie didn’t seem to have running water, Sam would have to improvise. Sam wasn’t entirely unfamiliar with the concept of a sponge bath, although had anyone ever suggested that he might someday give even a partial approximation of one to a pagan god, he would have laughed at them.

Sam did his best to remove the mud and gore from Gabe’s shoulder. Gabe flinched and winced whenever Sam moved too hastily or pressed down in the wrong spots. Sam couldn’t help but feel a little awful. He knew what he was doing needed to be done, but it was never pleasant to cause pain to someone who was already hurting. Gabe nearly screamed when Sam had to roll him onto his other side so he could take care of the puncture wound on the back of his shoulder.

“Sorry, sorry,” Sam murmured, hoping that the apology and the calm tone of voice would be comforting.

When Gabe looked a little less grimy, at least in the area of the wound, Sam decided that he better try to see if there was anything foreign still lodged in the injury itself. The chunk of wood had been splintered and rough, Sam was sure that bits of it may have remained in Gabe’s shoulder. Although it was possible that Gabe could and would heal even with a few foreign objects stuck in him, Sam figured it would probably speed the whole process up if he got what he could out of the wound before it could potentially cause infections.

Pulling the splinters that he found out of Gabe was horrible.

Each splinter removed was accompanied by a series of whimpers and little cries of pain. Sam muttered comforting nonsense, even though he knew Gabe was too out of it to understand him. (Sam didn’t notice how he was running a comforting hand up and down Gabe’s arm, unconsciously trying to offer any comfort he could.)

Sam was sure that there was probably more debris lodged deeper in the wound, but he was uncertain how he would even begin to search for it and remove it, he didn’t really want to go digging around in the wound. That seemed like a good way to cause more damage than it was worth. Not to mention it wasn’t as if Sam had the ability to sterilize his hands or the instruments he was working with.

After a short internal debate, Sam decided that he’d simply have to stitch up the wound and hope for the best. He’d managed to buy silk thread and a curved needle that would make stitching up a wound a lot easier than it normally would be with a standard sewing needle. This still was going to be rather unpleasant. The flesh around the wound was raggedly torn and Sam had to worry that there was internal damage that really needed to be sewn up by a surgeon.

But Sam didn’t trust that medicine in Faerie would be advanced enough to make going to a surgeon worthwhile. He didn’t doubt that they were barely more competent than the surgeons that he’d read about from accounts of the American Civil War, if the general sense of Faerie being behind the times held true. Besides, Gabe wasn’t human, and it was quite possible that once the wound was sewn up whatever supernatural healing ability he had would take over from there. (Sam tried not to think about the possibility that he was wrong.)

Sam’s mild sense of guilt only got worse as he worked at stitching Gabe’s broken skin back together. It was not a feeling Sam was unfamiliar with. It was never pleasant to see the flinch that accompanied each poke of the needle and pull of the thread, which was present now the same as it was when he’d stitched his own wounds or his brother’s. In fact, Sam was getting the impression that Gabe didn’t usually feel pain but could now, because he weakly squirmed and tried to get away from the needle, forcing Sam to hold him steady as he worked. (Sam kept reminding himself that this needed to be done, that this wasn’t Sam attempted to torture Gabe, to keep the part of him that hated causing pain from eating him alive.)

It took a lot longer than Sam liked to piece together the skin on both sides of Gabe’s shoulder, and then to finally bandage it in order to keep it clean.

Sam had originally intended to bathe, but by the time he’d satisfied himself that he’d done what he could for Gabe, it was extremely late and he realized that he had no clean clothes to change into even if he did push through his exhaustion. It would make no sense to clean himself up only to put back on his mud-and-gore crusted clothes, and Sam absolutely was not going to sleep in the nude in the same room as the Trickster, even if Sam was reasonably sure that Gabe would be out cold all night.

Sam figured he would deal with sleeping in his own grime for one night and hope that Gabe was well enough in the morning to clean and repair their clothes with a snap of his fingers.

* * *

Sam woke in the early hours of the morning to the sound of Gabe muttering incoherently in the other bed. Or Sam assumed that it was incoherent. He certainly couldn’t recognize any of the words, although it was equally possible that Gabe was slurring something in a language that Sam was not familiar with.

Sleepily, Sam pulled himself out of bed to check on Gabe.

Gabe was scratching at his bandages desperately, and Sam’s first thought that he if kept at it like that, he was sure to tear out the stitches.

Sam sleepily staggered over to restrain Gabe’s good hand before he could do any damage to himself. Sam gripped Gabe’s good wrist and pulled Gabe’s hand away from the injury, noting as he did so that Gabe’s skin was hot to the touch and covered in a feverish sweat. That couldn’t possibly be good, not when coupled with the way that Gabe was still muttering guttural nonsense.

“Gabe?” muttered Sam letting go of Gabe’s wrist and reaching out to brush sweat-damp hair off of Gabe’s forehead. He was burning up under Sam’s touch, and the gibberish sounded distressed.

Sam sat down on the bed next to him and tried to think of what to do. It wasn’t as if he could go find ice, he didn’t think that was likely to be easy to come by here in this place that lacked the technology to create a freezer. There was the option of room-temperature water, and that might be better than nothing. In any case, Sam didn’t know how high the fever was and he didn’t have any way of measuring it, and even if he did it wasn’t as if Sam knew what was normal and what was dangerously high for a pagan god.

The gibberish had gotten softer and less upset sounding since Sam had rested his hand on Gabe’s forehead and Gabe had gotten a grip on Sam’s sleeve with his good hand.

“Gabe? You okay?” Sam asked, not really expecting an answer.

Gabe opened his eyes, just barely, and didn’t appear to really focus on anything, but Sam thought he heard his name in the string of nonsense syllables.

“Yeah, I’m right here,” Sam confirmed, gently squeezing Gabe’s uninjured shoulder. “You with me?”

The gibberish lilted up, like Gabe was asking a question.

“You got hurt,” Sam said, not sure what the question was, but figuring explaining the circumstances might be in order, in case Gabe had forgotten. He kept his voice low and soft, like he was talking to an injured animal, “You fought a lindorm and got thrown into a tree. I think it made you sick, but I promise you’re safe.”

The gibberish got a little louder and a little more desperate, and Sam was uncertain if he’d completely misinterpreted what would be reassuring, or if maybe Gabe didn’t understand him and was upset that Sam hadn’t been able to answer him. It did worry Sam that Gabe was trying to get up and was wrenching his bad arm in order to do so.

“It’s okay,” Sam repeated. “I can’t understand you, but we’re both safe right now. Can you calm down for me? Please? I need for you to not tear any of your stitches. Can you do that, please?”

Gabe sighed, and muttered something that had a few apparent uses of the syllable that sounded like “Sam”, but he sounded less agitated and he stopped squirming in the manner that had worried Sam.

“I really hope that you’re not trying to tell me that you’re about to die,” Sam murmured, feeling a black pit of anxiety in his gut. Because Gabe could be trying to tell him that, and Sam would have no idea.

Gabe grumbled something that might not have been in English but Sam was absolutely certain would translate to: “Of course I’m not dying, I’m too awesome to die.” The snark was unmistakable, even in feverish gibberish.

“Not dying, got it,” Sam said with a smile. “Are you all right now? Can I go back to bed without you trying to hurt yourself?”

Gabe’s grip around his forearm tightened and the gibberish sounded anxious.

“Not allowed to leave,” Sam guessed, and rolled his eyes and very carefully moved Gabe over a little more to make room on the bed. “This had better not be a trick, I will not appreciate it.”

Gabe slurred something soft and sad.

Sam curled up next to him. “Just don’t die on me, okay? I’ll go find someone to help in the morning, if you’re not better. So, do me a favor and be all right?”

Sam may not really like Gabe that much, but he didn’t think he could stand to be the reason that another <s>friend</s> ally was dead. He had enough guilt of that sort to last several lifetimes, he wasn’t sure he could handle any more.


End file.
